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I ended up in some Mexican hospital with Ernie sitting at my bedside looking as haggard as I felt. Then minutes later, I found out why he was so haggard when he told me the shit that went down at Raul’s wasn’t the FBI or DEA or anyone else, it was Sculpt causing a distraction.
For a brief few minutes I was relieved because that meant London would still be there. But Ernie wasn’t done. I found out that while I was lying in a fuckin’ hospital bed, Deck and his men raided the compound and took out everyone who needed taking out. Then blew it up.
But Raul escaped, along with Alfonzo and Jacob.
I didn’t have to say her name. Ernie knew what I’d want to know.
London.
Ernie’s hooded eyes and grim expression said it all.
That’s when I freaked. Never freaked before. Never cared enough to give a shit about anything to lose control like I did that day.
I’d ripped the IV from my arm and yanked the heart monitors from my chest before knocking over the machine that screamed a loud warning signal. Took me three tries to get my legs moving and over the side of the bed and I was so frustrated that I threw the IV stand across the room and it smashed into the television.
Nothing mattered except getting the fuck out of there and finding her. My head was so drugged up on painkillers that I didn’t even see or hear Ernie as he tried to keep me in bed. All I saw was London on her knees. London submitting to those fuckin’ disgusting bastards. London. London. London.
I finally made it to my feet and found out why. Ernie was no longer holding me down. He was at the door with a needle in his hand. A nurse stood beside him, eyes wide and terrified. He came at me. I made it one step from the bed before he tackled me to the ground and shoved the needle in my arm.
For another week I was kept sedated, unable to do more than curse Ernie when I briefly opened my eyes before I passed out again. They were probably smart to keep me that way until I healed, because if I hadn’t been, I’d have never stayed in that bed. I’d have been out doing what I was doing now, searching for London.
At another fuckin’ auction. This time in Germany.
I’d been to at least a dozen of these with no sign of her and I was beginning to wonder if she’d ever show up, but I had nothing else and I refused to believe she was dead. I’d know if she was. My gut told me she was alive and I wasn’t giving up until I found her.
I’d used contacts that weren’t associated with Vault to keep what I was doing quiet, and there were only two people who knew I was searching for her, Ernie and London’s father.
I’d gone to see him, but not by choice. Since I’d been out of commission for weeks, Vault, meaning Mother, had been looking for me. I went off the grid plenty of times when I was on assignments, so it wasn’t unusual to disappear for a month, but she wanted Dr. Westbrook looked into. Threatened was really what she wanted because the drug he’d given her was causing a zombie-like state on her test subject, Connor, and she was pissed.
I’d flown to New York and left Ernie in Mexico searching for any info on where Alfonzo and Jacob could’ve gone because they were my only lead to what happened to London.
When I saw her father, I told him what happened to her. I’d seen men cry, beg for the torture to stop. I’d seen them drool and flounder under my knife, but never had I seen a man fall to his knees in racking sobs of grief. I stood and watched, unemotional. Cold. Allowing nothing for what I was feeling about London in. Because if I did that, I’d go insane with rage.
But I did give her father one thing before I left him in his lab on the floor, a promise to find her and bring her back.
Now, as I stood in a private room in Germany watching a television screen as girl after girl was brought on camera, I faltered. My easygoing casual persona was cracking at the edges because I was cracking. It had been too long.
I’d dealt with the lowliest scum of the earth all my life and yet these men were worse. Even Vault stayed clear of this side of the underworld, because like me, they had no respect for men like this. They weren’t strong. They were weak and used slaves to make themselves feel powerful.
I barely watched the screen. It was sick. Dogs were treated better than these girls. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths as I tried to control the anger throbbing.
